


Better Days

by Lexalovey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, general blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 00:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalovey/pseuds/Lexalovey
Summary: After Castiel dies in season 7, Dean looks back on his friendship with Castiel, everything that had gone unsaid, and the nights they had spent together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "And you ask me what I want this year  
> And I try to make it kind and clear  
> Just a chance that maybe we'll find  
> better days."
> 
> "Better Days", The Goo Goo Dolls

All Sam could say as Dean shut the door of the Impala was…well, nothing. There were no words of comfort for Sam to offer, no platitude or lip service that might bear his brother's burden a little easier – mainly because Sam couldn't help what he didn't understand.

The boys and Bobby had watched Castiel wade into that water not ten minutes ago, and although at first the adrenaline had been pumping and Dean had seemed almost unaffected, as they had split from Bobby, Sam couldn't help notice the weight of what had just happened slowly land on Dean's shoulders. He looked…exhausted.

Dean still had that dirty beige trench coat folded in his hands, and Sam noticed that his brother's arms were shaking just a little. The coat was soaked, and the front of Dean's jeans and the bottom of his t-shirt were absorbing the water, which couldn't have been comfortable, but Sam could tell by the cast of Dean's mouth that the physical sensations were the least of his worries now.

"D-d'you want me to drive?" he asked quietly.

No response. Not a shake of the head, a curt nod, a whispered answer…hell, even a grunt would be better than this crystal silence.

Sam waited a minute, and then cleared his throat. "I-I'm sorry, Dean. He was my friend too…" Sam trailed off uncertainly, because he absolutely knew that the relationship between himself and the angel paled in comparison to the bond Dean had shared with him. That bond was elusive…they weren't gay, Sam had told himself many times. It's not like they were in a relationship, like others had assumed. Sam would have sworn that a familial bond was the only way Dean knew how to truly love anybody, but that wasn't quite right for what had transpired between Castiel and his brother, either. And to call it simple friendship…well, that almost seemed insulting, considering the devastated look on Dean's face right now.

Sam had seen that look before, many times. It was the look of people who had just lost a loved one horrendously, suddenly, tragically. It was the look of a mother whose child had been torn away from her in a brutal manner. It was the look of a man who walked in to find his lover bleeding and broken through no fault of his own. It was the look people got when everything they had been planning on – everything they had been counting on – broke down before them.

It was the look of someone with no contingency plan.

Only a moment or two had passed, but the silence grew thicker and heavier with every second, until Sam had to try again, he just had to. "Dean…"

Suddenly Dean snapped his head up. He threw open the door of the Impala and slammed it shut as he jumped out. He clutched that soaking, dirty trench coat to his chest and then hurled it as far away from him as he possibly could.

"Dean!" Sam cried, his first instinct being to rush to his brother, to comfort him somehow – the way they had done for each other their whole lives. But he stopped when he saw Dean's face – tearless. Hard. Murderous.

"FUCK YOU, CASTIEL!" Dean screamed to no one.

A pause.

"Goddamn you, Cas! Goddamn you! How could you do that? How could you leave us like this? How could you leave me? How could you leave – "

Dean Winchester fell to his knees.

"All you had to do was listen to me. One fucking time. All I needed you to do was trust me, to hear me, to listen one fucking time to what I had to say, man, and we could've stopped it. We could've – you could've – "

Sam might've walked in on Dean naked and felt less intrusive. All he knew was that this moment of pure, raw grief, of sadness, was private, was absolutely sacred, and he was in the way.

So he kept his mouth shut.

And he tried not to listen as Dean kept talking, kept pleading with Castiel, with God, with anyone who might be in earshot of his prayers.

Sam slowly walked over to wear Dean had thrown the sodden trenchcoat and picked it up. He folded it carefully, crisply. Like a soldier's flag, he thought as he creased the sleeves. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then turned around.

Dean was on his feet again, rubbing his eyes like he hadn't had enough sleep, and then running a hand through his hair. Wordlessly, Sam walked back towards him and presented him with Cas's coat.

"Trunk," Dean said gruffly.

"All right." And Sam moved to the back of the Impala. "After all, he'll need it, you know, if he comes – "

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't. Just – don't."

The brothers reentered the Impala, and this time Dean promptly turned on the ignition and began driving.

Sam didn't ask where they were headed.

He doubted Dean knew.

* * *

Dean had no idea where the fuck they were going – which could prove to be a problem, seeing as he was the driver and supposed to be in the know about this kind of thing.

He just knew he had to get away from that river, away from that memory, away from that goddamn trenchcoat –

Away.

Dean had been through a lot in his years. Seen monsters, seen ghosts, seen demons, fuck, looked at the face of Lucifer himself. He'd watched his father die, lived with the knowledge that he was the reason his father died. He'd seen his own brother, his best friend, die and be reborn into something that was twisted and fearful. He'd listened to his brother's screams of agony as he denied him the blood he craved. He'd seen souls burning and wailing on the racks in Hell, and he'd lived through Alistair's horrible torture and tutelage.

Yeah, when it came to death and dying, fear and pain, loss and torture, Dean Winchester was a Ph.D. But the hole he felt right now was deeper and more pervasive than anything he'd known in his lifetime.

Maybe that's what love feels like.

Bullshit. He'd loved his father, who'd died. He'd loved Sam almost too much. Loved Bobby. Loved Lisa. Dean wasn't some soulless creature, after all. He could love. He did love.

But not like this.

So what was that supposed to mean? He was in love with Castiel, "Angel-Of-The-Lord" Castiel, "Show-Me-Some-Respect" Castiel, "Worship-Me" Castiel? Now that was bullshit. There had been something special there, Dean wasn't denying it. He and Cas had had some kinda bond that Dean had never felt before, not like with Sam, not like with Lisa.

And yeah, there'd been those moments – and the dreams – and the nights that nobody knew about –

But if this was what love felt like? Real love?

Then fuck it, Dean thought.

He'd rather rip out his heart.

* * *

Not that he'd ever admit it – to anyone, especially not Cas – but Dean Winchester had been scared shitless the first time he'd laid eyes on him.

Sure ,it had just looked like a man – some kind of pencil-pusher with wild black hair in a rumpled coat – but Dean had no idea what it was, and in this line of business, what was unknown was deadly.

Cas had walked through that Devil's Trap like it was nothing, bullets glancing off his skin. The man commanded respect, even then.

He'd always remember the first time the angel had spoken to him. "I gripped you tight," he had intoned, "and raised you from Perdition." – and damn if the hairs on Dean's arms hadn't stood up then.

Dean was never the kind of guy to get hung up on personal morality. Sure, there were the basic lines: Don't kill. Don't rape. Don't become a vengeful spirit or a vampire or some other godawful thing because you were gonna get your ass full of iron and/or salt. But when it came to drinking, smoking, sex…he was generally permissive.

Hey, he was doing the world a favor. Every damn day, the world was a little safer because the Winchester brothers were on the case. So he felt…justified…in satiating his carnal appetites.

Girl after girl. Town after town. Blonde, brunette, redhead...even a couple with interesting hair colors like aquamarine, and purple-black, and this one reddish color he couldn't quite name but was later informed was called mauve by his know-it-all brother. His appetites were wide, and he was appreciative of nearly all beautiful women…but even Dean had to admit that after a while, it just got…well, boring.

Same old, same old. Lips, neck, breasts, thighs. The sharp intake of breath when he gently bit an exposed neck. The quiet whine when he ran his tongue around the edge of a perky nipple. The moan when he slid himself in between the legs of the girl of the night, feeling her warm, wet body contour to his.

It was great, no doubt about it. But after a while…a little predictable.

Still, when you get tired of one thing, it's not like something else suddenly looks better. Just because Dean was bored of women did not mean he had any desire to explore a man. He just didn't swing that way.

But when Castiel appeared to him in a dream, telling him that he was not a hammer, that he had doubts…that little bit of humanity appealed to Dean on a level that was not quite cerebral. There was an attraction – and Dean Winchester found himself drawn to this angel. Magnetic, was the word that came to his mind, and he immediately dismissed it. Probably because he's an angel, he reasoned. Servant of God and all that, people should feel drawn to them so they don't kick their pompous asses.

Yeah, he thought it, but as for believing it…

Well, Dean could deceive with the best of them. Even himself, it turned out.

* * *

Sam and Dean had been in many physical confrontations. Their whole childhood was structured around play-fighting, and after demons and angels had entered their world and shit got real, the fighting wasn't play anymore.

The time they had fought and Dean had told Sammy to never come back – what he thought of as the fight – he'd been hurt pretty bad.

It had hurt like a motherfucker when Lucifer-as-Sam pounded his face until it was almost unrecognizably swollen.

But when Cas had thrown him against the wall in that alleyway and hissed, "I gave up everything for you ", Dean had broken almost immediately.

"Cas," he had begged, "please."

It wasn't so much the pain, although you're fooling yourself if you think that a punch from an angry angel doesn't leave its mark. It was that note of betrayal in Castiel's voice. That angry, horrible, frightening voice emanating from Dean's angel was what really broke him.

Because oh God, in that moment, he knew. He had fucked up, he had thrown Castiel's sacrifice in his face, and how would he ever redeem himself in Cas's eyes? Didn't Cas know how important he was to Dean; didn't he know he'd rather have died again than seen that disappointment?

When Dean heard all this shit running around in his head –and that's how he thought of it, running around, like someone else had put it in there, surely it wasn't him thinking all this chick-flick crap –when he heard that, he knew.

"I need you, Cas," he choked out as the murderous angel threw him against a chain link fence, and then stopped, looming over him like the angel of death he could've been, almost was.

Dean saw no change to Castiel's face, and so he surrendered.

"Do it," he ordered. Kill me. I'd rather die.

I'd rather die.

* * *

Sam and Cas and Bobby had locked him in the panic room so that he couldn't go off on a wild hair and say yes to Michael and, you know, stop this pointless fighting or anything. Hell, if it was gonna happen, it was gonna happen. Even Dean, ambitious as he always was, knew you couldn't fight a war on two fronts. Angels or demons, they could handle. Not both. Never both.

But nobody understood that, nobody was listening to him. Instead they just shoved him in the panic room like a problem they could sweep under the rug and maybe forget was there.

It hurt. It hurt that they wouldn't listen to him. He'd been there through Sam throughout some pretty fucked up shit, and he'd saved Bobby's ass a couple of times, too. And Castiel…

Castiel was standing there outside the door, glaring at him, disgust written all over his face. Somehow, that hurt even worse than Sam and Bobby's response. He wanted to explain, wanted to try to get Cas to understand that he wasn't a pussy, wasn't afraid to fight or anything.

Dean opened his mouth to begin beseeching Cas to listen to him, but took a hard right onto cop-out lane and made a joke about his intense gaze.

"Not for nothing," he said sarcastically, "but the last time someone looked at me like that…I got laid."

Castiel just looked at him. Maybe slightly unsettled? As Sam sent Cas away, Dean winked, feeling victorious. Ha. If Castiel was more uncomfortable than Dean was, he had won this conversation, right?

The panic room door shut.

"Dude, you're fucked up," he muttered to himself.

Dean lied to people all the time. Even Bobby, even Sam, fuck, even himself.

But somehow, when he was sitting in that panic room, straining to hear anything going on upstairs, this bizarre honesty kept creeping into his thoughts. Weird shit, too.

Wondering if he was gonna die very soon.

Wondering what he'd miss, what there was he'd never get to do.

Wondering what Castiel would say if Dean died.

Wondering what Cas had never gotten to do.

Had the angel ever had angel sex? Or were they too holy for that? Sucks for them.

How was he going to apologize to Castiel?

How was he going to get out of this goddamn panic room to apologize in the first place?

Would he get to see Cas in the afterlife?

What would he say to him before he died?

Unbidden, an image of Castiel's face popped into his head. That tousled black hair. Those sad, sad eyes. Dean felt a wave of pity for the angel, because after all, Castiel was right – he'd given up everything for Dean, and Dean was basically telling him "fuck your wishes".

Suddenly Dean wished he'd been kinder to Cas. Kindness wasn't one of Dean Winchester's Big 5 Traits, but he could've tried harder. Not been such an asshole to him when he messed up human things.

The time Castiel had come in the hotel room reeking – apparently he hadn't realized human bodies needed washed, and often, so Dean had instructed him to take a shower before he could take him seriously. Thirty five minutes later, he'd cautiously entered the bathroom to find the angel simply standing under the scalding hot water, waiting for further instruction. "How long does this generally take, Dean?" Cas had asked innocently.

All those times he'd ragged on Castiel about personal space, when actually, he didn't really care if Cas stood that close to him – he just liked teasing him. In fact, that vague attraction he had felt to Cas the first time the angel had appeared to him in a dream seemed to increase the closer Cas stood.

Generally, Dean didn't like being touched, but he made exceptions for people he really cared about. Sam, Lisa, Bobby – so why hadn't Castiel made that list? Why hadn't he shown some shred of affection towards the angel before he screwed him?

Wrong phrase, Dean thought, laughing idly. And then immediately sobered when he considered the fact that he really never had touched Cas. The most physical contact they had was when Cas was beating the shit out of him. And he regretted it.

Okay, no. Dean stood up and shook his head back and forth like a dog shaking off water. When your thoughts are going directly to Crazytown, it's time to get off the train. I need to get out of this place, stat.

A plan came to him. It would involve tricking Cas, but he'd take that over being stuck in the panic room with his increasingly wacked out thoughts.

* * *

Well, that plan had gone to hell very nicely, like most of them do, Dean thought morosely. Sure, he'd gotten out of the room, but here he was with Castiel and the world was crumbling around them.

"Odds are you're a dead man tomorrow," Dean said, ignoring the way his gut tightened at the thought.

"Yes," Cas answered simply.

The look on Castiel's face was unbearably somber, but not sad. He didn't seem worried, didn't seem scared, didn't seem angry…just somber. Dean's mind quickly cast around for something to say to take the edge of the conversation – injecting levity into hopeless situations was, after all, his specialty. Sex was, obviously, the first choice of conversation.

And then Castiel dropped the bombshell. Never? He's never…in how many years, he's never had sex?

Dean tried to imagine Castiel seducing some human girl, but it seemed laughable…he imagined him tangled in the long limbs of Anna Milton but it seemed wrong, too.

Well, that settled it. Castiel was not about to die a virgin. Not on Dean Winchester's watch. After causing his friend so much pain, he could bring him a little pleasure.

And hey, at least it would take the edge off the evening.

Dean knew there was a decent whorehouse nearby, and before Castiel could protest, they were on their way, decidedly ignoring the hot flare of emotion cramping his stomach.

* * *

Of course Castiel would end up with a hooker with daddy issues. (Who didn't?)

Of course Castiel would be able to read those issues in her heart.

And of course Castiel would decide it was his place to say something.

So naturally they were escorted out, with the entire 'den of iniquity' thinking that Castiel was some type of reprobate pervert.

Dean looked at Castiel's face as they walked – quickly – down the alleyway. Serene as ever. He obviously didn't realize what a monumental fuck up he was, and that struck Dean as hilarious for some reason.

"What's so funny?" Cas demands.

"Nothing," Dean laughed. "It's been a long time since I've laughed so hard."

It had been a long time since Dean had been so glad for the company of someone who wasn't his brother, too. But he was glad to be walking here, shoulder to shoulder, with Castiel, glad to be taking him to a damn whorehouse, glad to be here with this angel on their last night on earth…

Dean stopped laughing.

"Been a long time," he said, more soberly. "Years."

* * *

On the way back to the hotel room, the sinking feeling settled back in Dean's stomach as he come down from the hilarity of Castiel trying to "help" a hooker.

They were still going to die tomorrow.

Cas was still going to die a virgin, he reflected, not that it was important right now.

Good, he found himself thinking. Wouldn't have wanted him to lose it to some whore anyway. Not good enough for him.

But he'd been about to. If Castiel didn't have that incredible gift of saying the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong kind, he would've gone along with it, fucked that girl.

For no good reason at all, the thought depressed Dean.

He was quiet until they reached the room.

"Tell the me the truth," Castiel commanded. Somehow, he sounded authoritative without being pushy. "I can tell something is bothering you."

"That whore," Dean mumbled. "The whole thing was wrong."

Castiel blinked. "I…was trying to help her. The prostitute seemed to need reassurance that her father was not simply—"

"Oh, goddamn it Cas! That wasn't it! I didn't – "

"I have requested that you not blaspheme in my presence," Castiel said evenly.

Dean's powerful hands shot out and he shoved Castiel against the wall of the dingy hotel room they'd ended up in. "Shut up!"

Castiel fell silent, obviously watching Dean to see where this was going.

"I didn't want you with that whore!" Dean shouted. "I didn't want it, okay? As soon as you left I realized that was fucking wrong."

"Then…why did you bring me there?"

Dean released Castiel. He'd had it. He was tired of everything. Tired of angels. Tired of demons, tired of God, tired of Satan, tired of fucking everything. And he was damn well too tired to try to make himself understood to the angel, especially when he wasn't even understanding himself so well these days.

"I don't know," he sighed. "I thought I'd try to give you something you'd like…you know, something you'd remember…nobody should die a virgin." He laughed weakly.

Castiel was quiet.

"Forget it," Dean said, feeling like an idiot. "Let's just…"

"Dean."

The look in the angel's eyes was something Dean Winchester would never forget. They were full of pity. Full of sorrow. And something else…affection. Caring. Love.

"When I raised you from Perdition," Cas began, "the first thing I knew about you was that you were a righteous man. And the second thing I realized was that you felt yourself unworthy of being saved. Unworthy to be raised from hell, and certainly not worth anybody's time or regard."

Super. A self esteem pep talk. "Look, thank you and everything, but I'm good," Dean said brusquely, turning away from the angel.

Castiel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, infinitely gently. "You still feel unworthy. You still feel alone. You feel that you don't deserve affection or warmth."

A tug from Castiel, and Dean was facing the angel again, looking into his blue eyes. "I have not stayed here for so long because it was my duty as a servant of the Lord," Castiel said. "I stayed for you, Dean Winchester. I am here for you."

Warmth pooled in Dean's groin and spread to his stomach, a low, dull ache that was not unpleasant. The steady, strong gaze of the angel was penetrating him…undeniably arousing him.

"Are you?" Dean heard himself whisper.

"Yes," Castiel answered, simply as he always did.

Suddenly Dean's sanity returned. He was looking at a fucking angel and getting turned on? A man? Out of the question! He was out of his mind.

But Dean knew he wasn't looking at a man – not just a man. He wasn't looking at Jimmy Novak – but Castiel, angel of the Lord. And whatever package Castiel came in was part of him, but not all of him.

Dean reached out, and drew Cas in. The angel's eyes shuttered dark, and Dean pressed his mouth to Castiel's as a surge of lust hit him.

They kissed.

And it was right.

As the two tired soldiers moved to the bed, Castiel spoke. "You are loved, Dean. You are cherished. You are…wanted."

Dean paused for a moment. "You're…you're not just doing this 'cause you think I'm lonely or something, are you?"

"Are you lonely?"

"God, yes."

"So…am I. I've been cut off from heaven…from my family. But I found you." Castiel appeared to be struggling for words. "Feeling things…emotions…like this…this is not normally how I would function. This is not how I always did my job. But I do feel…and I do want."

A pause while Dean removed his t-shirt.

"And I am lonely."

The men stripped off their jeans.

"I am lonely for you."

Dean reached down and grasped Castiel's cock in his hand, and began stroking the shaft. It was warm and hard, and although it was unfamiliar to hold another man like this, it felt…good.

Castiel made a noise of pleasure in the back of his throat as Dean gently squeezed the head. "Have…have you ever done this?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes," Castiel replied, shameless but apparently struggling to speak. "I…did not see the attraction. I certainly did not see why this activity appeared to occupy much of your time."

Dean yelped and reared away from the angel, dropping his cock like it had burnt his hand. "You've been watching me jack off?!"

"I was curious. And you do appear to spend a great deal of time engaged in it…" Castiel trailed off. "You stopped touching me. Why did you stop that?"

Dean felt a laugh well up inside him, and in that moment as he looked down at the naked angel splayed out on the bed, his erection prominent, he loved him more than life.

"My mistake," he said huskily, sliding his muscled body down Castiel's torso so that the angel's cock was pressing against his mouth.

* * *

And they were one.

And it was good.

* * *

"I was lonely…but I am not now."

The bare honesty in Castiel's voice was more than Dean could take. All the sorrow, shame, and wrongness of the past years welled up in him, and he cried. He had been so lonely, no matter how many girls he had fucked and how many times he and Sam had talked and laughed and joked, no matter how many people he met or places he went or monsters he killed, no matter how much he drank or ate or slept or anything, Dean Winchester was always lonely.

Except for right now, tangled up in Castiel's arms. Except for tonight.

And tonight was all they would have.

Dean realized he should sleep, but he couldn't bear to close to his eyes, to lapse into unconsciousness and lose these moments where for once in his pathetic life, he felt loved.


	2. Chapter 2

part two

* * *

"Now I lay me down to sleep," Dean had begun jokingly, figuring if Castiel didn't answer Sam's prayers, he must be done with them. Sure, it hurt, but he'd spent almost a year trying to pretend he was better off with Lisa and Ben and this whole…supernatural…mess behind him, so if Castiel was done with him, then he sure as hell was done with him too.

Never expected Cas to answer the call like that.

"What?" Sam had said, sounding almost hurt. "You just like him better or something?"

"Dean and I do share a more profound bond," Castiel said matter-of-factly, glancing over at Dean.

Red alert! Dean screamed in his mind, hoping Castiel was tuned in. No! Don't say anything about…the apocalypse or what happened, or…

"I wasn't going to mention it," Cas reassured him.

Luckily, Sam figured Castiel was still talking to him.

* * *

Smartass Balthazar almost blew it, that mocking, condescending tone of his. "Sorry," he'd sneered at Dean. "You're confusing me with that other angel…the one in the dirty trench coat…the one who's in love with you?"

Sam looked at him in surprise, but shrugged it off. Angels were dicks, after all.

Good.

Besides, Dean reassured himself, it's not like Balthazar was right. They weren't in love. No way.

Although he was getting pretty damn sick of people assuming there was something going on between them.

* * *

"Why's it always gotta be me who makes the call?" Dean demanded to Bobby and Sam. They way they looked to him to be an expert on Castiel made him a little uncomfortable – okay, way uncomfortable. "It's not like Cas lives in my ass. Dude's busy," he added defensively.

So of course, Cas took that exact moment to materialize.

"Cas, get out of my ass," he said weakly.

"I was never – " Cas began, maybe thinking to explain, maybe about to go on one of those angel soliloquies he sometimes did, maybe going to set everyone straight, Dean didn't care.

Shut up! God damn it!

"…in your…" he trailed off.

For fuck's sake.

* * *

Sammy had just stepped out to get some food, and so Dean locked the door to the hotel room behind him, finally alone, God, time to think –

…except for that holy tax accountant who had just appeared on his bed.

"Dean," Cas intoned.

"Stop fucking appearing like that," Dean snarled by way of greeting. It was kind of like 'I missed you' and 'I'm glad to see you' and 'thanks for stopping by' all in one, but less girly. "Give me some goddamn warning."

Castiel frowned. "How would you like this warning to manifest?"

"A knock on the door would be nice every now and then!" Dean exploded. "Maybe a call on the cell phone saying you're outside, shit, I don't know! You're an angel, man, think of something."

* * *

This is my fault, Dean thought, half-amused, when he heard a knock on the door of the glass shower stall that he was currently occupying.

At least it's a step up from him just appearing inside here with me.

"Little busy," he called out.

Or at least, he was. Until the water suddenly disappeared.

"Hey!" he called out angrily, sticking his head out of the shower, looking for that damn angel.

"That was not urgent," Castiel explained calmly. "I need to talk to you before Sam returns from his…pizza run."

"Talk."

"You've been avoiding me," Cas sighed. "You prefer not to be around me unless you need something from me."

Oh, God, it was going to be one of _those_ talks.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, I – "

"I would prefer it if you don't blaspheme in my presence."

"Can I at least get dressed?" Dean asked, resentfully. "It's kind of a psychological disadvantage to be standing here naked."

"If you wish," Cas said dispassionately. "But we need to talk."

Dressed and leaning casually against the wall, Dean told Castiel, "Better talk fast. Sammy's gonna be back with pizza pretty soon, so if you want this private, get started." He smiled slightly, pleased with the flippant tone in his voice. He had this. He hadthis.

And then Castiel placed a warm, dry hand on Dean's face and his heart exploded. "Sam will not interrupt us. But I confess…to curiosity. What has changed? Why do you not desire me around anymore?"

Dean shrugged Cas's hand away. "It's not that, Cas, it's…been busy…"

Fuck it. He couldn't lie to the angel.

"I had a normal life," he began. "For a little while. With Lisa and Ben and everything. I mean, I was with them for a year, and you weren't around at all. You were busy."

"Heaven – "

"I know, civil war. Got it. But I'm just saying…you weren't here,Castiel. And," he added, halfway convincing himself, "what we had…I mean, it wasn't really anything. One night, you know, it happens…"

Cas considered this. "It was something to me. But I had…a duty. I had a job to perform. And I admit that I thought you might be happier off with a human woman."

Dean snorted. "How nice of you to make that decision for me."

"But," Cas continued, his voice growing stronger, "do not assume that I was not around. Do not assume that I left you and that I was never here. I watched over you, as I had always done. You seemed happy."

"Well, I wasn't," Dean snapped.

"I am an angel. I am not omniscient."

A pause.

"And I am here now."

Dean looked at him for a moment, but broke their gaze quickly, looking down. No way. Not if Cas was going to leave again…

"I am here now," Castiel repeated. "I am not leaving, nor have I ever left you. I am here. Fear not."

He stepped closer, so their faces were almost touching. Dean could make out the scruff of facial hair, so different from his usual partner, but compelling all the same.

"Fear not," Cas said, his voice gentle. "For I am with you." The angel reached out and stroked Dean's face, and the fear and anxiety and self-consciousness all melted away as the strong, capable Winchester fell into Castiel's arms.

Their lips met, whispering wordless expressions of caring, of pleasure, of love. Infinitely gentle, Castiel began pulling Dean's shirt off while shedding his own trench coat.

"You're more aggressive this time, Cas," Dean whispered, a husky laugh catching in his throat.

"I have missed you," the angel said simply.

"I can drink to that," Dean admitted. He saw the quizzical expression appear on Castiel's face, but he led him over the bed before Cas could remind him that there were no drinks in sight. Dean tried to temper his breath as he gently pushed Castiel onto his back and began kissing his way down his body, pausing at the waistband of his boxers.

And then Castiel moaned. A distinctly human sound, an organic noise of inordinate pleasure and joy, and Dean realized that for everything that was going on and every way the world was going to hell, this was right.

It was right.

Somehow, Dean had the entirely unrealistic expectation that this time with Castiel would be just as good as the first. It would be as passionate, as full of fire and lust and deep emotion, and as gratifying as that first new experience.

Of course, Dean was quickly proven wrong.

This second time giving himself to the angel proved to be even more intense, loving, and pleasurable than the first time.

* * *

"Oh – oh! Jesus Christ – Jesus fucking -"

Suddenly the immense pleasure stopped as Castiel drew his mouth away from Dean's cock. "Please don't blaspheme in my presence."

"I'm going to kill you, Cas, damn it, keep going!"

Cas drew Dean back into his mouth.

* * *

"Oh…oh!"

"Dean," Castiel gasped, and although Cas wasn't much for talking in bed, his body language spelled out that his release was imminent.

Dean kept moving his hands in conjunction with his mouth, and seconds later –

"Oh, Dean – oh my God!"

* * *

"I most certainly did not."

"You did," Dean assured him. "I heard it very clearly."

"Your hearing was obviously affected. I would not have said that."

They were lying on the bed, arms wrapped around each other – Dean's least favorite part about sleeping with a girl, but somehow the post-coital conversation with Castiel was all right.

"Fornication, sodomy, and blasphemy? You having a good day or what?" Dean teased.

"I will not hear your falsehoods," Castiel insisted.

* * *

Who knows how it could have gone, how it could have happened?

It was after that night that Dean had gotten a lead on the Mother of All – after that night they had gotten suspicious of Cas, and after that night that Dean had trapped the angel in the holy fire and forced him to confess what he'd done.

Dean would never forget the look on Castiel's face as he abandoned him and left him standing in the fire, and Dean would never forgive him for not knowing what they could have been – what could have happened.

Dean would never forgive him for dying.

Dean dreamt that night.

He was standing on a dock. A simple wooden dock, built over a serene lake surrounded by lush foliage.

Been here before, Dean thought with a jolt, and then he remembered – that kid, the bike, the girl – it was another lifetime.

"Dean."

The voice he would never, could never, forget.

Dean turned his head and there he was, in all of his rumpled, unshaven glory. Dark hair wild, coat intact, tie hanging around his neck just so…and the saddest blue eyes Dean had ever seen, looking down at him.

"Cas," he whispered. "Goddammit, Cas, is that really you? Or is this just a dream?"

Castiel looked at him uncertainly, but said nothing.

"Come on, Cas, I'm going crazy here – are you alive? Are you hurt, are you lost?" Dean moved towards him, emotion clogging his throat.

Castiel took a quick step back. "I don't know. It took all my power to find you in your sleep just now – just for a few minutes…but I had to…"

"Will…you be back? Ever?" Dean hated himself for how he sounded – weak. Pleading. But he choked the words out anyway.

Castiel reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "If there is a way – any way – know that I will do everything in my power. I will make my way back to you."

Dean looked away.

"I'm a soldier," Castiel reminded him, and his tone was gentle, more gentle than it had been in a while, maybe ever. "I was created to be a soldier. I can fight. And I will fight my way through this. I will make my way back."

It wasn't a guarantee, it didn't resolve anything, but the knowledge that this almighty angel was going to fight harder than he had ever fought before in order to make his way back to him – for the first time since this whole mess began, Dean's stomach relaxed a little bit.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, I miss you."

"Don't blaspheme."

The kiss was ferocious in its intensity. It was strong, and unyielding, and it relayed everything that Dean Winchester was incapable of saying, but the angel understood.

They could have stood there, pressed together for days, for weeks, hell, Dean would have gladly stood rooted to the spot for years – but eventually Castiel pushed him away.

"I have to go…"

And Dean nodded. "I…"

But he stopped.

Castiel ran his hand through Dean's short hair. "I understand."

And Dean knew he did.

"The Song of Soloman. 2:16. Fear not. I am with you." And the angel was pressing his fingers to Dean's forehead, and the hunter awoke in that same shitty motel, with the scratchy sheets and the smelly rug and the whisper of Castiel stuck in his head.

He sat up. Sam slept soundly in the bed over, and as far as Dean could tell, exactly no time had transpired from the time he fell asleep to right now.

Dean snapped on the light and, on a whim, pulled open the drawer of the nightstand in between the two beds.

"Wha…" Sam mumbled sleepily.

"S'okay, Sammy, go back to sleep."

Dean pulled out an old leatherbound book, bearing the legend "Placed by the Gideons." He'd never put much store by the Bible, but he flipped it open anyway, and noticed that one of the corners of a page had been folded down – like somebody keeping their place.

"The Song of Soloman," he read, his eyes drawn to a particular verse. "2:16."

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine, he feeds among the lilies.

When it came to straight answers, Castiel had some serious shortcomings.

But this time, Dean thought, as he reread those words again and again, this time, damn if it wasn't just enough.


End file.
